Numb and Nothing
by Domward's Mistress
Summary: Jasper just needs to feel again. Edward is the only person that can help him do that. Their love was great, once, but can they get that back? E/J, hurt, love and heartbreak. Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I have to say, this is one of my favorite stories of mine. I can't wait to finish it. It includes drug use, alcoholism, a lot of heartbreak. **

**Enjoy.**

He's bouncing on my cock. I know he's moaning because I can see his mouth moving but I can't really hear him. I can't remember his name either...did I even ask? Maybe, I'm not sure. He seems to be really over heated because I can see the sweat running down his chest but I can't see his face. It doesn't matter; I can't see anything anymore, not really. Why is he sweating? I can't feel any heat.

I can't feel anything.

I know I'm mostly hard since I haven't slipped out of him yet but I don't feel aroused.

I should be used to this by now.

Numb. Hollow.

I'm dying.

Every night, I bring a guy home, fuck him and send him out the door. Every night, I feel nothing. Every night...I'm just here. They are all similar for the most part. Some shade of green for the eyes, red, auburn, or sometimes light brown hair, skinny yet toned, and pale. But the green in their eyes doesn't consume me, the auburn or red hair isn't bronze and chaotic, they are missing a freckle on the inside of their left thigh and they don't have a scar on their right shoulder blade from falling out of a tree at the age of eleven. Their voices aren't velvet. Their laugh isn't contagious.

They aren't special.

They aren't fascinating.

They make me feel nothing.

Am I coming?

I think so because I can see my stomach muscles clenching but I don't feel the burn spreading through my abdomen or the delicious euphoria that should accompany it. He's coming too, it's hitting my chest but I can't feel the warmth it should hold. I can't hear the scream that is coming from him. I can't feel his ass tightening around my cock.

When he finishes, he climbs off my lap and goes to bathroom. I did come, I can see it in the condom. Shouldn't I have felt that? Oh well, it's just like every other night.

At least this one is nice enough to clean me up as well and I know he's talking because his lips are moving but I can't make anything out. It's all white noise mixed with murmured words of affection and a beautiful deep, rumbling laugh from the past in my ears. So I just nod my head and roll over, I think I might have said goodbye or thanks or something.

He's gone now so I reach into my nightstand and grab my whiskey and the blue tablets I have sitting next to it. I chew the pills and I know they should be bitter in my mouth but they are tasteless, just like the whiskey I wash them down with. I can't feel it burning my throat like I should.

I'm so tired of feeling nothing.

I'm so tired of breathing and living and it's pointless and I hate it. That's not true; I don't hate it because I can't. I can't hate or love or cry or smile or... do anything that resembles being human.

I close my eyes, praying for sleep but all I see is a gorgeous crooked grin and lashes so long they look false. I see full lips and long fingers and toned calves that always felt so good under my hands.

I can't remember what feeling good feels like.

If I squeeze my eyes tighter and listen real carefully, I can hear him whisper 'I love you' and I can _almost_ feel the hurt from his absence, _almost_ feel the need to cry...

But it's only almost, and almost doesn't count when it comes to being numb.

I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all.

I chew some more pills and swallow some more tasteless whiskey.

I stumble as I get up from the bed to walk to my closet. When he left me, he forgot to take his white Metallica tee shirt. On the front is a stain from when the juice from a strawberry dripped from his perfect lips. It doesn't smell like him anymore even though I've never washed it.

My scent covers it now because I bury my face in it every night, trying to get a reaction out of myself.

I put a razor blade to my arm once. I knew it was going to burn if I cut myself and it would have been welcomed, anything would be welcomed as long it was something. I couldn't do it though. Just as I was about to drag the blade across my flesh, I heard his voice telling me how beautiful my skin was, begging me not to get a tattoo because my skin was to perfect to mar.

I threw the blade away. I didn't want to be tempted with it again. But the burn would have been amazing...

I hang his shirt back up and walk to my bathroom, looking in the mirror at the man who used to normal. My hair is too long and I need to shave, my eyes are still blue but they are dead, just like the rest of me.

I was happy once.

I bet it felt so good.

I can't remember.

I know it must have felt nice when he would wrap his arms around me and kiss the back of my neck. It had to feel good when I pushed inside of him. I had to have felt some sort of pride when I made him smile or come.

Right?

I can't remember that either.

I walk back to my bed and ignore the false image of a naked, lean body with a come hither look and long fingers beckoning me over.

I chew more pills and drink more whiskey.

Shouldn't I feel high or drunk?

I don't.

I wish I did.

I could change it though. I could pick up the phone and dial the number I know from memory. I could hear is smooth voice tell me not to call anymore and that he doesn't want to talk to me. I've done it once or twice.

It's the only time I feel anything.

I feel the sting of his rejection and tears welling in my eyes. I feel the hole in my chest where my heart has gone missing. He put it somewhere after he crushed it. I haven't found the pieces yet.

I feel the burning lump in my throat. I feel the ache in my head.

I feel...alive.

But after I've cried myself to sleep and I wake up screaming from the nightmares I have so often, I'm empty again.

My fingertip is turning white from where I've wrapped a lose thread from my comforter around it and pulled tight but I can't feel the prickling that I know should be there.

Is this death?

Surely it can't be considered life.

It's not. My life walked out on me a year ago today, taking my soul and his suitcases with him. It was my fault, really. I should have kept the promises I made to him.

I didn't and now I'm useless.

What good is a human that doesn't feel human at all?

I grab my phone.

I want to die.

I dial his number.

I want to live.

He answers and I breathe in, feeling the air in my lungs for the first time in two months and seventeen days. "Hello?"

And I can _feel_.

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Y'all are the best. The reviews for this reminded me how much I adore writing on a public format. I can't even begin to express my thanks.**

"Hey, baby," I sigh, a smile on my face and it feels so foreign that the muscles in my cheeks protest.

I haven't smiled in so long.

My voice sounds so off. I haven't heard it in so long, not really, and I sound like a completely different person.

Has my voice always been this raspy?

He takes a deep breath and little does he know that every time he exhales, he's breathing life into me. Nerves that have been dead for so long awaken just by the sound of his voice and I start noticing things I've missed before this moment.

The ache in my back from staying in one position for so long. A cut on my calf that I assume I got from work. The prickling in my finger from where I've left the loose thread wrapped around it.

It all feels so good.

"Jasper," he breathes, low and husky and my stomach flips in response. "I thought we talked about this, love."

"Oh." The word bursts from me, a half gasp, half sob sound because the term of endearment he always used for me spills from his lips so effortlessly, so easily, and it all feels so, so _good._

"Say it again," I whisper, loving the way a simple word caresses my skin and makes me feel human again.

I don't think he knows it but with every second of his time he gives me, another piece of my heart appears in my chest again and maybe, just maybe, if I keep him on the phone long enough...I can feel it beat again.

Even just once.

It would feel so good.

Another deep sigh from him and another stomach flip from me.

"What did you take?"

It's not what I want to hear but as long as it's his voice and it's directed at me, he can say anything he wants.

Were my walls always this white?

They seem so bright now that I can see them.

"Jasper, love, what did you take?" he asks again but all I hear is _that_ word and I actually laugh.

Laughing.

The vibrations from it tickle my throat, which I can now tell is raw and scratchy from the whiskey, and the way my stomach muscles contract feels weird. Has laughing always felt this good?

I couldn't remember until now.

"Everything feels so good," I say in awe. "Keep talking to me, baby." Keep me human, just for a little while. Keep me alive. I'm so close to feeling my heart beat again.

"Jasper, I've told you not to call me anymore. I can't keep doing this."

Oh, the pain. My breath leaves my lungs forcefully and I can literally feel the ache in my chest. The prickling at my eyes is so...good. It's all so damn good. I'm shaking and I feel the dampness on my forehead.

Hurt me again, baby. You make me feel things when nothing else can.

I'm drunk and my limbs feel so heavy from all the pills I've eaten.

"I don't know what I took," I answer the question he asked me so long ago.

I have a headache. It feels amazing.

The steady throb in my temple reminds me of the way his pulse used to drum under my fingertips when we made love.

It _did _feel good.

I can remember it now.

The way his long fingers clutched at shoulders as he rode me. The way I gripped his messy hair and screamed his name when I spilled my come inside of him.

And his lips.

I can practically feel them on mine now and I drag my heavy hand up to my mouth, hoping that if I touch my lips I can feel his there, make the tingle linger as long as possible.

"Jasper, you're scaring me. Answer me, love, how much did you take?"

There's that word again and I can almost feel a stuttering of a beat in my chest.

Just a little more, baby, please. I'm so close.

"I miss you so much, baby. I dream about you every night," I tell him. "Or, at least, I think I do. I can't remember things like I used to. Do you think of me?"

His silence isn't so bad because I still hear him breathing and it's the most beautiful sound in the world. Finally he whispers, "Yes, I do."

I feel something warm and wet sliding down my cheek and I realize that I'm crying.

Is there always so many tears?

My throat is burning and my body feels so, so heavy and I don't think it's normal to feel so sluggish and so amazing all at the same time. I lick my lips and I can taste the salt from my tears, the tang sending shockwaves through my mouth because I haven't tasted anything, not really, in such a long time.

"I love you," I breathe and the faint smell of whiskey hits my nose. I realize that the mostly empty bottle is still sitting next to me. It burns my nostrils and I love it but I still wish I was smelling something different, something clean and crisp with a hint of pine.

"Jasper, I-I need to go... I have to hang up now. Please don't take anything else tonight. For me," he begs and the faint almost beat of my heart starts to fade away.

"Please don't go yet. Just a little while longer." Please, please, I'm not ready to die again yet.

He sniffles and I shudder. "Jasper, please, you can't keep doing this to me. It's hard enough as it is. I love you so much and this kills me."

There it is.

My heart.

It's pounding and I groan from the feeling. Blood rushes to my fingers, my legs, my cock. I'm hard and wanting. It's euphoric and I think I'm close to exploding. The ache in my chest has increased to a bright fire and it's sliding up my throat and I love it.

I'm breathing heavily and the feeling of my lungs expanding, in and out, in and out, is almost more than I can take.

I sob.

I shake.

I beg him.

"Don't leave me yet, please, baby. I'm not alive unless I'm with you. Talk to me...say anything, I don't care, just please don't go yet. I need you now."

Why am I so cold?

The breeze from my ceiling fan is frigid and it makes me shake harder. I'm cold but I'm sweating.

And I can feel it all.

But the pain...the pain is the best. With every 'I can't' he mutters, the pain increases and it's overwhelming. The white noise that's been in my ears for so long is gone and all I can hear is his breathing and his words and his smooth, velvet voice that's strained and shaking. If I try hard enough, I can smell him and if I try even harder, I can feel him against me.

"I'm hanging up now, Jasper. Please...don't call me again."

My heart is slowing, my pulse is fading and I can't feel the cool air anymore.

"Please, baby...please, don't. Not yet." I don't want be numb again. Keep alive just for awhile longer.

"Goodbye, Jasper."

The click of the line also clicks off my heart, it's in pieces again and unable to beat.

My pulse is gone.

The pain in my chest and the burn in my throat fades faster and faster and I clutch at my pillow, screaming and pleading with it to stay. The tears come faster but I can't feel them sliding down my cheeks anymore or the prickling in my eyes. I close them tightly, praying that if I try and try I can get the feeling to come back.

Within the hour, or the night, I'm not really sure how much time passes, I'm numb again.

The phone finally drops from my hand and I stare at the ceiling.

I'm already starting to forget what being alive felt like.

I'm sure it felt wonderful though.

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